


"Genuine"

by The_Fiercest_Vulpine



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Fluff and Mush, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 19:18:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8502232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fiercest_Vulpine/pseuds/The_Fiercest_Vulpine
Summary: This is another fic of Tsar and Pitch and it is very, VERY fluffy.Like...trash levels of fluff and love and sweetness.It's fluff candy.You will get emotional diabetes (as i did while writing this).This is sinful.If you've seen "The Mesmer" with Alan Rickman, it may help with some descriptive imagery.If you've seen Rufftoon's comics about Pitch learning of how the Guardians were chosen by Tsar, some of this will make more sense.My head cannon is very VERY derived from that small comic scene, but the rest i don't apply to my HC.Tsar Lunar is depicted as i draw him in my art style, which you can see on DeviantArt.I'm FoxDragonLover, enjoy!-----------------------------------------------





	

His skin was aching for Tsar's hand.  
They were, once again, in that spare room in the workshop.  
Pitch sat on the bed, legs hanging over the edge while Tsar sat in front of him on a stool.  
The Boogeyman's eyes looked hungry, the pupils a little larger than normal and the irises very, very golden.  
Tsar couldn't possibly miss the way Pitch looked at him if he tried; needy, lonely, tired.  
Tired of hugging onto himself when he slept, tired of being too nervous to ask for help, tired of being alone.

 _"I promise you'll still be conscious, it'll just make you relax._  
_If you get upset, just say so and I'll stop, I promise."_

Pitch nodded shortly, inhaling through his dry mouth slowly.  
The movement raised his entire upper frame, shoulders rising and falling with that strongly drawn breath.  
Tsar and Pitch had agreed to try out one of Tsar's many gifts; the ability to sooth and calm others with his energy.  
On the moon, though, Tsar had only ever been able to use this power on his animal helpers.  
As nice as that was and as well as it worked, he was very eager to have a more high-thinking subject.  
Better yet, a subject he cared so much about.  
His first friend from earth, and someone who needed him and his kindness so badly.  
After everything he put Pitch through, giving him a release from his pain and sadness was just touching the tip of the iceberg of what Tsar would have liked to do for him.  
For now, this was the best he could do, but Pitch seemed to accept it as though it were the greatest gift he was ever given.  
Tsar could see how starved he was, how desperately he craved love, even if Pitch himself was simultaneously afraid of touch and being cared for.  
It was a complex ring of emotions that ran so fiercely, with such force that it could sometimes dry Pitch out and break him down all together.  
But it was just the two of them now, and Pitch was terrified, and so ready.  
He knew what Tsar was going to do, since he'd explained earlier, but trust was the big issue now.  
When Tsar finally raised his hand and extended it to him, Pitch's teeth showed just the slightest, and his nose buckled.  
Not that he wanted to react that way -- he just didn't know how else to react.

_"Don't..."_

_"...?"_

Tsar tilted an ear toward him, as if he were trying to hear a deep secret.  
Pitch didn't look at him, but his words were serious.

_"Don't hold back..."_

A happy, soft smile crawled upon Tsar's lips while a bright shine gleamed in his ocean-blue eyes.

 _"I won't._  
_Just relax, now._  
_Deep breaths."_

Pitch swallowed enough of his own pride and nerves and closed his eyes, not wanting to watch Tsar's hand.  
He knew if he did he would push him away, and he just wanted to feel the pleasure of being touched gently, and of having his mind taken away from the current time.  
The pearly grey-blue hand reached out, energy pooling from the invisible chakras beneath the skin and veins.  
This energy could not be seen, but it could be felt, and as soon as it touched Pitch's own energy he hitched a breath and sat up a little taller, but put his head down.  
Eyes still closed, his brow furrowed over them, making them look heavy.

 _"Easy,"_ He said softly.  
_"It's just me, it's okay."_

A low groan escaped the Boogeyman, sounding cat-like.  
Tsar allowed his hand to smoothly wave over the front of Pitch's body, the flesh never touching him.  
It just drifted a few inches away from him, letting the energy do the work of calming the entity.  
After so long, Pitch's breathing slowed down and his muscles, face and body all relaxed enough for Tsar to know that his energy had gotten through, and that it was doing good.

_"That's it, perfect."_

His voice became very hushed so as not to disturb the trance he could so clearly see Pitch entering.  
He moved his hand over him with a little more vigor, and after so long added his left hand to it.  
Being perched right in front of Pitch made it easy to reach him, so there was no strain on him or his body of any kind.  
Performing this was a little entrancing for the wielder as well, but Tsar had to concentrate to do this, and to pay close attention to Pitch and his body language.  
A quick two minutes went by.  
Tsar's hands were moving in ribbon-like motions over Pitch's shoulders, down his arms and back up to circulate by his collar bone.  
Still, Tsar's hands had not touched his subject, and the need Pitch had to feel his skin started to show its urgency.  
The fallen King of nightmares tilted his head back, exposing his thick neck, and as a result causing his chest to come forward a little.  
His eyes peaked open just a tad, the large orbs still golden and, now, shinier than before.  
He wasn't breathing deep and slowly anymore; the breaths were just a tad stronger, gaining a slow momentum in rhythm with his peaking desire.

 _"...Pitch?_  
_Are you all right?"_

 

The only response he got was a long, tired blink and a stuffy groan.

 _"Hey..._  
_I can stop if you need me to..._  
_Do you want me to stop, Pitch?"_

_"Ts-saaar..."_

The man from the moon's hand hovered in front of Pitch, no longer swooping over him.  
Feeling that the motion had stopped, a groggy Pitch looked back down at his hand and leaned toward it, as if he were going to plant his face into Tsar's palm.  
But, he couldn't reach that far; ribs had a way of stopping certain flexibility.  
Tsar's voiced somehow grew even more sensitive, more agreeing.

 _"What do you need, Pitch...?_  
_You can talk."_

 _"Don't stop,"_ he croaked out.

Tsar paused a few seconds more, contemplating, then finally did as Pitch asked.  
Giving his left hand a break, Tsar slid his right hand up in front of Pitch's face very slowly, wanting to test the waters.  
Just as he suspected, Pitch followed it with his face, eyes closed but the desperation heavy on his brow.  
Now seemed as good a time as ever for Tsar to be a little more involved.  
He broke concentration to stand up off the stool and calmly pushed it back, now standing in front of his seated subject, who could seem to care less of whether or not he was at eye level with him anymore.  
Tsar moved his energized hands in graceful, mix-paced waves over Pitch's whole body, occasionally letting the tips of his fingers brush Pitch's arms.  
Pitch would seem to startle each time it happened, but not out of fear; it was pure excitement.  
This process, this thing they were doing was actually rather intimate.  
It was an arousal of the spirit and the soul, a tender yet powerful way to draw out the desires of the heart and learn to sooth an aching need.  
Tsar's center was wishes, of course he knew what Pitch wanted, but he enjoyed holding him on the cusp -- just to watch him writhe for one more second.  
This wasn't to torture Pitch, but to thrill him and finally make that contact more rewarding, as opposed to what a simple pat on the shoulder would be.  
Pitch's pleasure was accentuated by how the shadows in the room would lull and flicker, seeming to match the beat of his breathing, and they danced each time Tsar's fingers brushed him.  
Breathy grunts escaped Pitch each time the hand got just so close to him, or when the fingers would graze him.  
His face looked up toward the ceiling, neck and chest and front all exposed again.  
Tsar watched the rise and fall of Pitch's chest, thinking to himself somewhere under his concentration about how exquisite he was.  
His hands would take turns skating over the air in front of Pitch's face and down the space around his neck, drawing the breaths and urgency straight out of him.  
Pitch's fingers clutched the blanket he sat on.  
It wasn't a strong grasp, just enough to give him a sense of grounding and security in this free form dance of the chakras.  
After having closed them a minute his eyes came open again, watching Tsar's focused face distantly.

_"Pl-ease..."_

Tsar slowed to listen.

_"Yes?"_

_"Tsar..."_

_"What is it, Pitch,"_ he asked kindly.

 _"Tsar I..._  
_Pl-ease, touch me..."_

His eyes almost seemed glassy as, in extraordinarily rare form, Pitch begged hoarsely for the comfort.  
Tsar made a few more slow motions over his face, making Pitch's eyes wider with contact lust, before finally letting his digits rest like a feather on Pitch's bony left cheek.  
The Boogeyman shivered and gasped, breath short and heart racing.  
It was like pure ecstasy.  
Tsar stroked his cheek with his thumb, tilting his head absent mindedly in wonder at the man-named monster.  
This practice Tsar did had the power to make his subject confess their wishes in a comfortable, safe environment.  
But this wasn't a wish, it was a need, something the the whole world, Pitch included, had denied him.  
Pitch choked back a whine at the feeling of Tsar's soft hand against him, the smooth fingers trailing down his cheek and into his jawline, and then down his neck.  
Each second was crisp with deep emotion from the man in front of him, drawing out his own emotions that he had long since tried to swallow.  
His eyes watered again, nostrils flaring subtly every so often.

_"A-ah--"_

_"Shhh, relax._  
_Just breathe, you're safe..."_

Tsar would stroke his face and bring his hand down to his neck again and again, slowly repeating the process.  
Pitch ate it right up, drinking it in through his every fiber, as every sensation and feeling was intensified by the energy ritual.  
That energy still emanated from Tsar's palms, grasping Pitch and his pain with a sweet affliction that felt so good all over.  
But after a few minutes, it also began to uncover an ache deep in his core.  
A sadness, a something that felt orange and red, something that stung him and pulsated.  
This new ache silenced the dance of his shadows around the room, the light going still as it was before.  
Tsar picked up the pace, moving back into the rhythmic motions of making his hands take turns to simply touch the air around Pitch.  
The longer this went on the stronger that deep pain inside Pitch radiated, burning a hole through the goodness he had felt up until now.  
Tsar watched his body grow more tense, the tendons in his hands flexing as he gripped the covers harder.  
Pitch started to bite at his bottom lip, appearing as if he were holding something in now.  
It wasn't difficult for Tsar to see that this something that Pitch was trying to bite back was causing him a bit of grief, so he paused his swoops.

 _"...Pitch?_  
_Do you want to say something?"_

Pitch sat still, head tilted at the ceiling while he contemplated in a daze.  
Jagged teeth still biting down on his lip a little, he shook his head quick and stiffly.

 _"Pitch, it's okay..._  
_Is it too much?_  
_..._  
_Is it...painful?"_

A clear, unmistakable liquid formed along the bottom lid of the creature's eyes, gravity pulling them slowly to the outer corners.  
He wouldn't blink, and his breaths were now short and small, held back and locked up tight within him as he tried to contain himself.  
Each tiny inhale and exhale shook.  
Tsar lowered his hands, almost whispering when he spoke.

_"You can cry..."_

He was sensitive, genuine.

 _"Whatever it is, it's nothing to be ashamed of._  
_You're completely justified, you don't have to hold it in._  
_You can show me..."_

His eyes grew sad and empathetic, because Pitch wouldn't budge.  
Finally Tsar brought his right hand up, letting it hover in front of Pitch's chest.  
And when he eventually let his hand gently touch the skin over Pitch's heart, the dark spirit closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, lips sealed tight as the tears rolled out, leaving dark streaks over his temples.  
He tilted his head down after that, letting the next few tears roll down the creases between his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.  
Even with the gradual display of emotion, he made no sound except for choppy inhales through his nose.  
His body sat straight and rigid, shoulders hunched and feet overlapping tensely.  
Tsar released the grip of energy, his touch now regular.  
Pitch was still a little out of it as Tsar sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his cold, unsettled body.  
Pitch shuddered, face scrunching from the heat of the tears, and the prickling emotional irritation.  
Tsar's voice stayed the near-whisper it was just moments ago.

_"Shhhh, shh it's all right..."_

He rubbed his arm soothingly.  
Pitch leaned into him, resting his head between Tsar's neck and shoulder -- his favorite spot to lay his head on him.  
It felt safe and hidden there, and it gave Tsar the opportunity to let his free hand gently slide up to the side of his head, holding him.  
It hurt so good, to be held and cared for.  
He felt so stupid, so weak and ridiculous but he couldn't keep it in.  
During their energy ritual, Tsar's wonderful aura touched the very core of his soul -- it touched his pain, his loneliness, his misery.  
It burned and ached and writhed within him, breaking him down enough to finally release just a small fraction of all the misery he held in.  
Tsar didn't enjoy seeing him sad, but he knew this was good for Pitch.  
His left hand moved to Pitch's back, rubbing it while his right thumb tenderly wiped his tears off his cheek as they rolled.

 _"This is a good thing._  
_It hurts, but you'll feel better._  
_I do hope you'll forgive me..."_

After a few moments, Tsar felt Pitch nod and heard him inhale shakily.  
His heart leaped, knowing Pitch didn't hold any hard feelings against him for it, but he still felt a twinge of guilt.  
Still, it was a necessary pain.

 _"It..._  
_F-elt good..."_

 _"I'm glad._  
_..._  
_You know, we can do this again sometime._  
_The more we do it, the easier it will be._  
_But these bad feelings, your sadness, until it's dealt with, you won't be able to hide from it."_

Pitch was quiet.

_"I know you don't like it, but it's helping you in ways you don't even know."_

He wanted to say he wouldn't put Pitch through something he thought would cause him only grief, but after how the plan to have him side failed 600 years ago and brought on an age of bitterness, he knew better.  
He knew what he did to him, how he hurt him, and how he failed to fix it.  
Tsar believed that any guilt he felt, he deserved, because he was what caused Pitch to become so bitter.  
Of course, the Guardians' lack of compassion toward Pitch when the workshop was first constructed hadn't helped either, but he couldn't entirely blame them for that.  
They all were put off by the Boogeyman, and for good reason.  
In the end, Tsar came to understand and accept that it was just sad all over, and Pitch had his faults and contributed to problems.  
Everyone was very flawed, but by being here he sought to unite all of them.  
No longer did he wish to make Pitch a Guardian, because that was simply not something that he was.  
He was a monster, he was different and he loved being that way.  
But that didn't mean he didn't want help or compassion from time to time; those feelings were normal.

 _"I want to g-et better._  
_I'm tired of being like this..."_

_"I know you are, and you will get better."_

There was a long pause, Pitch's tears already slowing to a stop.

 _"It wasn't bad until the end._  
_The majority of it was...rather nice, I really enjoyed it."_

He brought a hand up and wiped his own eyes with his wrist, causing Tsar to have to pull his hand away.  
He wanted to tell Pitch how proud he was of him, but positive response to his actions was something that still needed work.  
He could only imagine that 2,000 years of negative reinforcement had left him brutally indifferent when it came to encouragement over certain things, and to be told "good job" for crying would probably strike one of his more egotistical nerves.  
As Tsar thought about Pitch's egotism, he stifled a chuckle; the man was utterly adorable when he wasn't beautiful.  
Pitch's body felt heavy now.

_"Are you tired?"_

_"Yes, but not tired enough to sleep._  
_I have another day before I should."_

_"Well, yes, but you can if you want to."_

It was quiet again before Pitch pulled his heavy head off Tsar's shoulder to look him in the eye.  
His own orbs were a silvery gold mixture, and less alert than they were before.  
Tsar could only assume it was the sadness that had sucked some of the gold out, but his eyes were striking nonetheless.  
No matter how they changed, they were phenomenal.

_"...What if we just...laid down?"_

Tsar smiled a casual, warm smile.

 _"I think that would be lovely._  
_Come."_

A strange sound escaped the suddenly-tense Boogeyman when Tsar held him close and leaned back in one swift motion.  
For that brief moment he seemed incredibly irritated, but after finding he was now laying partially on Tsar's chest a deep, semi-violet blush colored his typically colorless cheeks.  
Tsar chuckled.

_"Are you okay?"_

_"I'm fine."_

The words slipped out rather fast and, to be honest, very coldly.  
Hearing himself, Pitch felt guilty and appeared to crumple a little.  
He hunkered down in an almost submissive manner, eyes flickering between Tsar's eyes and chest.

_"S...Sorry..."_

It was low and almost impossible to hear, but Tsar heard it.  
He chuckled again and began to stroke Pitch's hair.

 _"I know you don't mean it._  
_In time, you'll understand."_

Pitch looked at him with a puzzled expression, but Tsar simply gazed into his eyes, still smiling.

 _"It's not all your fault..._  
_You've not been treated well, you're still learning to accept this, to let your guard down._  
_I want you to know, I..._  
_Think very highly of you."_

Tsar's eyes fell a little sad, his smile half of what it was.

 _"I always have..._  
_I just never showed it properly."_

Pitch looked at him for what felt like a long time.  
He was still laying across Tsar's chest, scrunched up but a little less tense now.  
He hadn't forgotten what Tsar did to him, but...  
This was so nice, so new and so intriguing.  
His brain battled itself for words, for something to say to this man.  
Something nice, maybe.  
His eyes rattled about in an off direction for so long Tsar would have sworn he could hear Pitch trying to think of something.

 _"Hah, hey._  
_Pitch, look at me."_

He hesitated, then looked at Tsar stiffly.  
He was smiling again.

_"You don't have to say anything."_

Pitch swallowed something dry, quietly, then nodded his head and slid off Tsar's chest to lay beside him.  
His face was childlike, eyes round and curious, full of wonder and racing with thought.  
Why now?  
Why after all this time were things looking up?  
When Tsar first apologized to him weeks ago, he didn't believe him.  
But with all the recent tenderness, he's come to think maybe Tsar really didn't mean to hurt him throughout all those centuries.  
Tsar turned to his side, facing Pitch, who was laying on his belly with his arms folded tight to himself, hands up by his face.  
When Tsar's soft hand ran gently through his hair again, Pitch felt himself nearly come undone from the touch.  
He relaxed, going limp while his eyelids sunk.  
Tsar spoke softly.

_"Go on, close them.  
It may not be your day to sleep, but you need your rest."_

Pitch protested in his mind, but the full closing of his eyes showed that he was not going to put up a fight.  
He had surrendered to the warmth, the comfort and the company of the celestial spirit.  
Tsar eventually closed his own eyes.  
The man from the moon never slept; he didn't need sleep, ever, but a trance-like state of rest sometimes did him good; soothed his soul.  
He startled a little when he felt Pitch move, and opened his eyes to find the Boogeyman on his side, facing him and drawing close.  
He held his arm up, allowing Pitch to nudge himself in and rest just mere inches from Tsar's body.  
Thanks to anatomy and legs, they weren't smushed together but they were close -- close enough that Tsar let his elbow lay neatly over Pitch's arm so that his hand could fall to touch his upper arm, and the space just behind his shoulder.  
Pitch exhaled a long, relieved breath, eyes closed and heavy, and his entire body loose.  
Tsar was happy to give him this peace, this calmness and gentle encouragement.  
And as the King of Nightmares began to slip away into a dream about butterflies, he uttered soft words that rang more genuine than anything he had said all day.

_"Thank You..._

 

 

 

\--End--


End file.
